I am panting, my breath coming heavily, weighing down my chest, collapsing my conscience. My heart thuds, thuds, thuds, the rhythmic materiality, the only thread of reality, left in this spinning eclipse. All conception slips away, abstract thought left in disarray, indistinct shapes become my visualization, slowly clearing to become a notion. A triangle forms into rememberance, pounding, slamming, smashing into sense, edges clear and sharp, my grasp decays. Now fast is the repetition of life, beating to the rate of a 2020 pop song, unobtrusive in my racing mind, a dull hum sounds the reason of my current existence. I strain to see, to hear, that singular triangle.
My mind renders an image.
Bright in the leaden, unlit room, my iPhone 6s shines.